


Thrilling

by fakedyamond



Series: Thrilling Tremors [1]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:27:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27471973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakedyamond/pseuds/fakedyamond
Summary: After the brutal, untimely death of his boyfriend in his own home, Dwight starts to be tormented by a man who seems to know him all too well and perhaps is even closer than he might imagine, terrorizing him and putting him on the edge of sanity.
Relationships: Dwight Fairfield/Danny "Jed Olsen" Johnson | The Ghost Face
Series: Thrilling Tremors [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2020234
Kudos: 36





	Thrilling

It was a n unbearably hot evening on that Friday when Dwight decided he could make dinner for  John and perhaps finally get some quality time with his boyfriend. It seemed that the past few weeks, some eventuality always came up whenever he planned to do anything with him. First he had that paper on organic chemistry to work on, then  John kept finding some reason to go see his parents a few towns over and disappeared for a few days.

He was scared maybe the man was getting tired of him. He was a bit obsessed with his grades in college and some times let that take more of his time than he cared for. It was not his fault, he needed to keep those grades up if he wanted to keep that partial scholarship, and he still had to work part time on that awful pizza place to keep the rest of the tuition and expenses covered.

He felt bad for it, sure, but he only hoped his boyfriend, of all people, would understand. So he set up this dinner date in the small house off campus while his roommates were off on some random party, in hopes to get some answers out of him. And he was somewhat surprised to get a yes from him, given the way he ghosted for days. He probably was going to break up, and it would only be better for him to do it in his place, where he would just leave inconvenienced by Dwight’s protests.

Let’s just get this over with, he thought to himself as he picked up the phone to try and call him once again. He had been ghosting him all evening since he arrived from class and began preparing pasta. Dwight had already downed half a bottle of wine by then, the tension of a more than likely break-up being eased off by cheap liquor.

He sat the phone down after a third call and turned the oven off after checking on it, pulling the casserole out hurriedly and accidentally spilling wine over his white shirt. He sighed softly, angry he messed up one of his favorites and went to get club soda to try and clean it off.

Some time and a lot of scrubbing later, and the red wine stain was still pretty damn obvious, so he just gave up on it and went back to downing the reason of his current stress, which was also the cure for his other more persistent stress.

An odd vibrating sound pulls him out of his mild stupor, making the young man fumble over the kitchen counter and take the phone in hands. Eyeing it warily he notices it is from an out of state number, his eyes lingering on it for a bit before he gathers himself and answers it with his usual high pitched tone, “Uh-hello?”.

An instant of silence is cut short by a calm voice on the other end of the line, “Hello. Who is this?”. Dwight scoffs at the statement out of instinct, only to be greeted by an awkward silence which he cuts off by clearing his throat, “ you’re the one calling, you tell me ”. The strange silence persists for a bit longer, making Dwight lose some of his patience, taking the phone off his ear and  end ing the call, going back to his sweet nectar.

The phone rang once again and he simply refused the call, throwing the phone on the sofa as he laid there mulling. If this was John pulling a prank on him, so help me… The phone buzzed again and his anger forced him to take it back into his hands,  noticing the  same caller once again and answering, grunting  under his breath .

“Wrong number, asshole!”, he was about to turn it off only to find the silence on the other end cut by a low toned answer. “I am anything but wrong now, Dwight”, the way he delivered the answer sent chills up his spine, which lingered on as the silence settled once again in that unwanted call. The tone had shifted from curious to simply threatening the second he said his name.

“John, is that you? This is not funny”, was all he could bring himself to say, as the man continued with his insufferable quietness, some sort of rustling on the other end. Dwight got up from the sofa and walked to the door, hurriedly opening it to find no one there. He hoped to catch him on his silly game, but of course he would not be there. It was too obvious. He closed the door behind him and locked it. “Let me guess, the call is coming from inside the house?”, he giggled at his statement and heard an ungodly laughter crawl into his ear.

“Not from inside… not yet”, he said eerily, but Dwight figured it could only be a sad joke from his boyfriend. Or rather, ex-boyfriend now. Even if John did not intend to break things off, it was now him who would want it. Three weeks unavailable and now this shit. He went to the front window and looked out but could not make anything out there.

The lamp posts were shining over the sidewalk and only showed the garbage bin and someone walking a dog across the street. He walked back to the kitchen to try and catch him off guard, but it was still as empty as he left it, the casserole now cooled off enough and the dinner plates still turned over. Wait, was that a phone over the table? He picked it up and found it was his boyfriend’s, the same lame picture of himself sitting on a beach towel and that perfect white smile melting his heart a bit even now. The missed phone calls were still obviously there and the silly name he gave him “Dweet”.

“Babe, you forgot your phone here while you were pulling your little prank! Or was I supposed to find it and think this is not you on the other end of the line?”, he was now yelling into the phone, as the silence began to get cut short by heavy breathing, like the person doing this was getting a kick out of fooling him, maybe even turned on. “This is not funn-”.

A loud thud over his shoulder startled him enough to let the phone slip out of his grasp and over the table, nearly falling off the edge of it as he turned back to see what banged the kitchen door. Another one, this time heavier. A bit more time waiting and another bang, like something was getting slammed lazily over the door.

Dwight’s hands were shaking when he picked up the phone again, palms sweating as he brought it back to his cheek and spoke in a  hiss , “this is  _not_ funny. If this is you, John, then stop it right this moment”.

The loud breathing was there again, like steam was coming off of his  nose and a low growl came from his chest. “Aren’t you going to get the door… Dwight?”,  his name left his lips with some kind of lust and then another bang, something sliding over the wooden door,  gett ing pulled back off of it  hastily .  He finally put the wine glass down and breathed in deeply . “What is that smell? Lasagna?”.

“It’s the dinner you _would_ have had if you did not decide to start this stupid game, John”. Another bang, and then another, and another. It was clear to him now that the loud thuds were also present over the phone, so whoever was doing this, he was sure to meet once he opened that door. If he opened that damn door. He did not get to lock it, did he?

He was wavering, but why? If this was his boyfriend, what would there be to fear?  This had to be John, right? His  once sweet, loving boyfriend, who always called him before he went to sleep and always made sure to pick him up after a long shift at Pizzawhat. Who left a toothbrush in his bathroom after a few weeks of them dating and who let him have the last bit of popcorn every time they went to the movies.

He was distant this past month, sure, but he was not an asshole capable of doing this sort of emotional terror. No, it could never be him. Whoever was doing this was not the man he knew. And then Dwight looked over the table and remembered the phone that was there, John’s phone.  And now, looking at the door, he could see something run slightly underneath it, a slim, slick dark liquid seeping into his kitchen.

I hope this is not what I think it is.  Who the fuck did this? How did they get a hold of his cellphone? Another bang, this time so strong it made him take a few steps back  and tremble, Dwight look worriedly out the window, pondering his options. John was in trouble, but he was too. He could probably run out the front door and buy himself enough time to get to a neighbor, to call the cops or just book it to that convenience store down the street. Anything would be better than stay put, figure out what this entire exchange had been up to this point  and probably meet a very unfortunate end .

It took him every bit of strength in his body to open his mouth and say this, almost crying as he let the words take form, “w- w hat did you do to my boyfriend?”.

That wicked laughter came from the other side again and he could now hear it himself over the door. He was taking the necessary steps back, he needed distance f rom whatever was coming. He needed to get himself out of this situation this exact moment, by whatever means. He heard three bangs again, the laughing man stopping his cackle with his heavy breathing, a disconnect from the reality of whatever he was indeed feeling.

“Why don’t you get the fucking door and find out already, Dwight?”, he sounded more threatening now, “I’m dying to show you the face “babe” made when he took his last breath, after stabbing his chest for the… let’s say, fifteenth time”. The chilling way he said this made him cry, one hand over his mouth to conceal the gasp. “Is that the sound you make when he fucks you?”.

T here was no  more time for him to gasp or scream, as a hand slowly turned the knob on the kitchen door and revealed John’s shirtless body, so bloodied it was hard to see even a bit of his white skin under all that mess. His face was completely blank and eyes shut, mouth agape letting  blood come out of it in gallons. Dwight’s horrified gaze drifted down to his waist, where he could see clearly some of his intestines spilling out of a severely cut stomach, the work of a sadistic maniac who was not satisfied with just killing, but wanted to disfigure him entirely.

John’s body fell forward in front of the table to reveal the one who did this cruel murder, a black shape, clad in thick leather and wearing a white ghastly mask, an empty looking visage holding a phone in one hand and a bloodied knife on the other. The warm scent of blood nearly overwhelmed by the horrible cologne the thing wore. The figure threw the phone in its hand toward Dwight, the screen shattering as it hit the ground.

\- Aren’t you a bit curious? - he walked slowly over, Dwight following his steady steps as he drew himself back knowing any  slip would mean a future similar, if not worst, than the one his boyfriend endured.

\- Why did you do this? - he spoke as he went out toward the living room. Good, there was enough space between them for him to rush to the front door and close it behind him, maybe he could hold him back with his own body weight as he called the police. Only he remembered how he locked it and that could mean seconds, precious seconds, where that sharp hunting knife would sink itself into his back.

\- Look at that phone, Dwight. That’s not mine. Not really – his voice seemed more amused than before, the change in tone being that much more unnerving.  The dark shape was now stepping  slightly faster . Shit, this would be the end of him. No way he could run fast enough up to his room, and even if he got there in time, what would he do after that? Call the cops? He would be gutted before he could even hear their sirens.

\- What the fuck is wrong with you? - screw it, he could stall him long enough to get up there in those slow steps, once he reached up there, he would turn and run like mad to his room. He could lock it behind him. He could push the bookshelf over and barricade it. He needed to hold on to hope and try his hardest to survive. He had to do it for John, to get the bastard who killed him in prison.

\- That’s your precious little boyfriend’s phone – he said as he got himself into the  living room, knife waving menacingly even now  as he spoke like a maniac about frivolous things – well, his  _other_ phone. The one you  probably didn’t know he had. The one he used to go find and fuck other men.

\- What? - his face fell at that. This bastard was trying to mess with him, trying to make his last moments on this Earth that much more miserable. Only he was closer now. He closed in on him so fast he did not even compute that a knife-wielding, cold-blooded murderer had broke into his home and was now within punching distance. Or rather,  Dwight was within stabbing distance. He felt his foot reach the top of the stairs and he was sure enough his room was a few steps behind him, to his left, but his eyes were still locked with that ghostly, white visage.

\- Come to think of it, I actually did you a favor, Dwight. I helped get rid of that little slut – he let the words linger between their shortening distance as he got up on top of the staircase himself – so, now you owe me. Don’t you think?

The knife swiped closer to his throat than he expected, as he flinched and fell on his back, kicking the thing’s shins and crawling himself away. He got up hastily only to feel sharp metal cut over his forearm and slide into the wall to his side, a quick jet of blood spilled on the floor. Another stab went close enough, but he stopped with one arm, the knife sinking just a few inches under his wrist, probably breaking his bone and causing a nearly deadly wound. The attacker pulled the knife out without flinching, only to miss the third hit as Dwight threw himself to the floor again.

It was now or never, he went to kick the man again only to feel  a death grip on his leg, a very strong, very angry arm pulling him closer for a cold, perfect stab on his inner thigh. Out of instinct, he retracted the right leg slightly and kicked  the ghost’s elbow with  it ,  propping himself on his elbows painfully, but thankfully avoiding what would only be the  third of many violent stabbings. He was that much more relieved that the donkey kick  shot his assailant’s weapon out of his hands momentarily, time enough for him to run inside his room and lock it behind him.

Not satisfied, Dwight turned to his left and pushed the bookshelf over, feeling every bit of effort he made as the wound on his arm still let fresh blood gush out of it. “I’ll fucking crush your skull, you little piece of shit faggot!”, the man started wailing over the door as he tried to force it down with wild punches and shoves.

He had time. There had to be enough time. He heard the voice on the phone “911, what’s your emergency”, as he began telling the address over the banging, which suddenly stopped once it realized what he was doing and hurried steps went downstairs. The woman was quick in sending the cars, as undoubtedly even she was shocked to hear the violent way the door was being forced and the brutal way slurs were thrown at him. Had he not done this, the door would definitely have given in and his death would have been certain.

He felt sucked inside a blurry hurricane after that. The cops showed up and broke into the front door, finding John’s horribly mangled corpse in the kitchen, bloody footprints into the living room and up the stairs and a sobbing, nearly fainting Dwight locked up behind the safety of his bedroom. They had to actively break into it to assist him as even he was too weak by now to actually do something about the bookshelf and the door.

When a police officer came close to him to try and pick him up, he blacked out with static ringing over his ears, the blood loss having taken the best of him.

**Author's Note:**

> Taking a short break from the other work to let my imagination run free and get some fresh air.  
> I was inspired by several other works with Dwight and Ghost Face, they should definitely be read if you enjoy messed up relationships, even if a little.


End file.
